Freddie Mercury's Sperm-Encrusted Throat - Who STUDIES THIS SHIT?

Somebody got paid to analyze those God-awful campy-fag QUEEN recordings from the 70's?

WHY?

To prove that FABULOUS FREDDIE had a four-octave voice?

What's that make him, Yma Sumac with an anal cunt?

There are singers out there with fantastic voices and lots of range, and nobody's heard of them (Like Turley Richards). Yet here we are, concerned about a dead guy, wondering who'll play him in a bad movie, and spending hundreds of dollars to see some turd-burglar cover his stuff on stage while Brian May stands around thinking of England and his paycheck.

This guy HERBST is an AUSTRIAN SCIENTIST? Or is he just a psycho-fruit? Is he a vainglorious hobbyist who desperately wanted his name in the papers? Or is he the next Savile, hoping that young homo Freddie fans will come flocking so he can measure their dicks with his throat?

"Bohemian Rhapsody?" asks senile Robin, the doddering old fart who wanders around with NOTHING on his pin-headed mind but tottering to his next BOOT SALE and sniffing at dusty records in a charity shop. "Didn't that song chart? I don't care for popular music. I like to find obscure nonsense, digitise it, and then float it to my WEBSITE, while the wife fucks herself in the kitchen with a cucumber. At my WEBSITE, I mutter my confused little line, "It did not chart, I have no information," and wait for some helpful nerd to inform me.

"I was so delighted that within ONE day of dithering like a turd in the wilderness, SOMEBODY told me the best place to get an account so I can keep on monotonously hoisting bad vinyl! I've gone through several hosts, clucking and moaning about how sometimes my precious mp3 files don't download, or clucking about a scratch here or there (on my brain). I'm forever mumbling about trivia, like only having found one other single by the Albanian Chicken Fucker Glee Club, or that I have no knowledge of whether "Parrot Face" Davies is related to a member of the Yarbirds.

"Oh well. As long as I have something to do. As long as I can BROWSE boxes of RECORDS, and be the LORD of the BOOT SALE and have some pathetic sod anxiously awaiting me taking my wallet from my purse and parsing out a few coins...that's all that concerns me. ME MYSELF and I, and MUFFIN of course. And to a lesser extent, the wife and grown-up kids who consider me just some kind of MORON."